TFP - Doorwings
by DuskWolfAtDawn
Summary: Transformers Prime verse. Basic idea? Ratchet cuts off Smokescreen's doorwings. Quick one-shot.


**A/N I've told several people I'd do this...AND FINALLY. IT IS DONE. XDDD  
Now I need you all to believe that there's some urgent reason that Ratchet needs to...ahem, ****_amputate_**** Smokescreen's doorwings. I can't come up with one right now...but I had to write this NOW because...GRAH STUPID PLOT BUNNIES DX**

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"M-my doors?" Smokescreen stammered. His blue optics were wide with a flood of emotions, included in them fear and horror. Ratchet felt no better having to tell him, his helm bowed.  
"Yes," He answered flatly, guilt like a stone in his chest. That, and concern for the young mech. Smokescreen was trembling, doorwings pressed down against his back. "You can't do that!" He blurted desperately, servos moving towards his ducked wings.  
Arcee stepped forward and crossed her arms. "It's for the good, Smoke. Don't tell me you'll ignore that."  
"I know, I know, but do we really have to do this? Why _me_, of all mechs?" Smokescreen pleaded, distress in his every feature.  
"Hey, don't worry about it, kid. It'll be over in a little bit," Bulkhead tried to comfort him. Smokescreen shook his helm. His next words were said firmly, yet filled with grief.  
"I just don't want you to cut my wings off."  
Optimus, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Bulkhead, and Arcee all shared fleeting looks.  
"We're not exactly excited to have to do it, either." Ratchet spat back, suddenly impatient. Smokescreen didn't look up, not affected by the sharp retort. He'd grown used to the medic's short temper.  
"Do not make this any harder than this has to be, Smokescreen." The red and blue Prime finally spoke up, his liquid baritone voice calm.  
_'Right_,_'_ the young mech thought to himself. '_It's _just_ my doorwings. Like Bulkhead said, it'll all be over in a little bit. I don't have anything to worry about!'_  
Still…the pain. It would probably be too much to bear. And how would he transform without doors?  
Hearing the familiar sound of transformation, he looked up. Smokescreen had to choke down a yelp of alarm at the sight, fear reignited.  
Ratchet's blades glinted in the light. "Just turn around," The Autobot medic instructed, his words carefully said. The young mech gave a small whimper, coolant welling up in his optics. Then he did as told, turning and placing his servos against the wall. Stiffening, he heard Ratchet slowly drawing near. His spark pounded.  
Ratchet felt terrible. He knew how sensitive doorwings were. He knew he would be placing a lot to bear on Smokescreen's shoulders…quite literally. But it had to be done, he reminded himself.  
Without another word, Optimus Prime turned around and herded the rest of the Autobots out. Some of them spared sympathetic glances back at Smokescreen before the Prime closed the door behind them, leaving him and Ratchet alone in Smokescreen's berthroom.  
Silence pressed in around the two mechs, broken by a grunt from the younger as Ratchet rubbed the base of one doorwing. It didn't hurt; it just simply took him by surprise.  
The orange and white medic continued massaging the door, letting him get used to the feeling of contact. At last, he reluctantly drew back the blade. Feeling the shadow of it come over him, Smokescreen braced himself, bowing his head and arching his back inward. He closed his optics… And then it hit.  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGHH!" A bloodcurdling screech of agony fell away from Smokescreen, his body suddenly convulsing with the pain. Energon began to spurt noisily from the gash at the base of his left doorwing, where Ratchet had chosen to strike first. Smokescreen screamed again, agony seemingly shredding his body. The older Autobot felt the pain in Smokescreen's scream grip his spark, and he winced. Now his servos trembled as he tried to hold the door straight, which wasn't too hard. The abrupt piercing pain had made the wing stand on end stiffly, though it still quivered a little. Small blue drops were scattered near the base, were energon had erupted from.  
Smokescreen's entire frame was shaking. He panted raggedly, feeling the energon pour over his metal and splatter on the floor loudly. It hurt more than he could ever have imagined.  
Ratchet brought his arm back again.

The other Autobots heard it from outside the door. They heard the shriek, the energon spilling. Optimus closed his optics, a deep sorrow filling his chest, yet it made him feel hollow at the same time. Bumblebee clenched his fists, whining anxiously, while Bulkhead stiffened. Arcee was off to the side with her arms around herself, grief clouding her sapphire and pink optics. As much as she disliked the new recruit, she hated having to let him suffer. At least they weren't forced to watch…at the same time, though, they couldn't escape the noises. It didn't matter if they brought down the sensitivity of their audio receptors; that first cry was burned into their brain pans.

Smokescreen felt the razor edge rip through his metal, tearing apart circuits, unleashing a downpour of energon down his back. The agony pounded through him like a fire, devouring all other feeling. Throat-ripping screams tore away from him.  
In desperation, he pressed himself closer to the wall, his fingers ripping grooves down it. Yet another scream of agony passed his lips when Ratchet hit again. Coolant streamed from his tightly shut optics, streaking down Smokescreen's faceplates uncontrollably. Like the energon.  
He was trembling violently, but forced himself not to thrash. It was difficult to do, with Ratchet suddenly swinging the blade again and lessening the area of his wing connected to him.  
The young mech sobbed his pain, and desperately cried, "RATCHET! P-PLEASE!"  
More and more wails sounded around the room. Each one hit Ratchet like a punch in the gut, and growing guilt seemed to rise in his throat. He had Smokescreen's energon on his blade, his servo, his face…and he was the one causing him this pain. Hurried thoughts flashed through his mind.  
'_He might refuse my efforts to heal him in future battles. He might try to ignore me for the pain I've caused him. He could be traumatized for the rest of his life. He could die.'_ The last thought brought his mind to a screeching halt.  
_'He could die._'  
Ratchet stared at the energon dripping from his own metal. The fresh energon spilling from Smokescreen's wing onto the ground. That growing puddle pooling and snaking across the floor to wash past his pede. At the energon trickling down Smokescreen's metal.  
_'He could die.'_  
The energon loss might be too great. What could he do? The orange and white medic couldn't move for a moment.  
Smokescreen sobbed helplessly, groaning at the pain.  
Finally, Ratchet's mind cleared, like mist parting. Procedures came one by one into his consciousness.  
Apply pressure to decrease the amount of energon flowing out. Rewire the energon lines. Seal the wound, so no viruses can enter and no more energon can spill. Check the patient's firewalls, and make sure he/she rests while retrieving a new model attachment.  
Order returned to Ratchet's brain pan. The organization and smoothness that he prized. So easily shattered when he turned his gaze back to Smokescreen.  
The young mech had sunk to the floor, on his knees, but was still against the wall with his back to Ratchet. Smokescreen was shaking with pain, more prominent movement of his shoulders indicating silent sobs. The doorwing that the medical officer was working on hung by some remaining pieces of metal and a handful of circuits. Energon pumped profusely from the open scar, draining out of his systems easily to collect on the floor in a large puddle. More of the blue fluid had somehow managed to get on Smokescreen's faceplates and servos; coolant and energon was smeared against the wall.  
Ratchet's spark hammered, his servos beginning to quiver again. The energon loss was great, and conditions could get dire…but he had to finish cutting off both doorwings first.  
Smokescreen tried his hardest to pull himself together, he really did; but his wing dangled by only a few connections. Agony had a cruel hold on him. He couldn't stop crying.  
A new explosion of pain forced a yelp out of his hoarse throat, and he clutched at the wall again. Glancing back, he realized it was only Ratchet touching the severed wing.  
The medic winced at the younger mech's agony, and at the hard glare Smokescreen fixed him with. He never meant for Smokescreen to suffer...and Smokescreen knew it.  
Internally, the young Autobot reprimanded himself for being hostile to the other mech. But how could he help it, if it was Ratchet and only Ratchet that was doing this? '_No, that was wrong, too,'_ he thought bitterly. Ratchet was the medic. And he had the blades to do it.  
All Ratchet felt was guilt. Guilt piled on top of guilt. Only the notion of his duty drove him forward. Thank Primus it was a strong one at that.  
Screaming agony seized Smokescreen like a brutal fist. Pain made itself clear to the world in shrieks of anguish that the young Autobot mech vocalized. Energon sprayed from the new gash that Ratchet made, sending both mech's metal awash with light blue as it splattered noisily on metal.  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGH! AAAAAAAAHH! NO! NO! PLEASE, MAKE IT STOP! RAAAAATTCHEEEEEEEEETT!" Smokescreen wailed, coolant running from his optics as strongly as ever. He writhed, clawing at whatever he could get at with twitching, energon-stained servos.

And then the doorwing fell with a clatter to the energon-covered floor. The young mech screamed, but after his agony was voiced, he fell limp and landed with a plash on the ground, facedown. He was trembling, dripping with his own energon, gulping for air like a fish…at last, Smokescreen broke down. Painful sobs wracked his body, a dull ache throbbing in his chest as the tears fell.  
It hurt to watch. Pity swelled in the doctor's chest. He didn't want to hurt the young bot…but sometimes pain had to be endured for the better. He'd learned that through experience as a medic. But did Smokescreen know that? Ratchet didn't know.  
"Sm-Smokescreen, I-" He began to apologize, but stopped. Smokescreen's pained, sorrow-filled gaze seemed to steal his ability to speak. Ratchet felt terrible. He had to do it again with the other door, now. Feeling unable to do it, he transformed his blade back into his servo. "Smokescreen, I'm so, so sorry," He choked out, his voice filled with silent agony for the young mech.  
All he got was an emotionless gaze in response. Then Smokescreen lowered his optics, and nodded curtly. As if in acceptance.  
The answer snapped the Autobot medical officer back to reality. He had to patch Smokescreen up before he died… '_He could die.'_  
The haunting words came back, and he pushed the thought away. Ratchet turned, heading for the door to outside of the room. "Don't go anywhere," He began saying, but then halted in the middle of his sentence. Of _course_ Smokescreen wouldn't move.

The Autobots heard a loud clatter from outside Smokescreen's berthroom. Almost simultaneously, they stiffened. They could all guess what that was. A shriek of agony, and then silence. Anxiously, they glanced at each other.  
"Do you think he's…?" Bulkhead started, but let it hang. Bumblebee had felt his own doorwings tingle during the process of Ratchet cutting off Smokescreen's, and he still felt the prickle in the base of his wings. Arcee and Optimus remained silent.  
There were some faint murmurings, and then a louder and clearer, "Don't go anywh-"  
They could tell it was Ratchet from his voice.  
Almost immediately after, the door slid open and the orange-and-white medic hurried past them. The other Autobots watched as he made his way to where he stored his medical supplies, and then all turned to peer inside the room. Arcee held her servo out through the doorway so the automatic door wouldn't close, and all of them stared into the berthroom. The femme couldn't help a faint gasp, and even Optimus Prime winced.  
Energon was smeared on the wall, pooling on the floor, dripping from Smokescreen…who was in a prone position, sprawled on the floor in a large blue puddle of his own energon, chest heaving. Tattered, loud breaths came from him, and all of the Autobots could see he was trembling. What was so blatantly obvious was the loss of his left doorwing, a ragged, large scar on his back where it used to be. It now lay at his side, splattered with energon. The open wound teemed with torn wires, metal ripped jaggedly around it. Yet even more energon pulsed profusely from between sparking, bare circuitry, gushing down his sides and back.

Smokescreen didn't even notice they were there until he heard a surprised gasp. Painfully, he lifted his helm to look at them, optics dulled and clouded with agony. He gave a groan, and let his head fall back to the energon-covered floor with a tiny splash.  
"Out of my way, doctor in the house," Ratchet grumbled as he shoved past the Autobots. A shot of anxiety went through him when he realized they all saw Smokescreen's condition, and what he had done, but he pushed it aside in annoyance. The mech needed him.  
Carefully, he laid out his materials, away from the energon. Ratchet grabbed a cloth and a slab of metal that was among the tools, making his way back to his patient. Hurriedly, he wiped away the worst of the energon and tossed back the cloth, picking up the gray sheet of metal and transforming his other servo into a welder. He began covering up the scar, but not without Smokescreen wincing in pain as he made contact. Internally, he cringed, hating to force pain upon the young bot…yet again. And he bore in mind that it wouldn't be long before he had to do it again.

The Autobots watched in silence, feeling a bit sick and horrified at all the spilt energon. But surely Ratchet knew what he was doing…right? They could spy the medic muttering as he patched up the open scar, determination making his optics hard. The young mech under him was such a contrast; He whimpered in pain, traces of coolant on his faceplates. Smokescreen trembled pitifully, all the agony revealed in a flood of emotion within his bright blue optics. Bright blue optics that seemed no longer bright as they clouded with pain.

Worry and fear for Smokescreen clutched at Ratchet's spark, but he dared not show his sorrow to the others. It would only prove to show that his emotional barrier was weak.  
There, he was done. The medical officer rubbed off some remaining energon on Smokescreen's back. Now all he had to do was…a surge of blankness overcame the orange and white Autobot as he realized what was left. All there was at hand…was to take off the other doorwing. Frantically, he searched for something to do, for something to postpone having to cut off the other wing, but there was nothing.  
_'Please, Primus, don't make me have to do this,'_ He begged silently. No answer. He let out an anguished sigh. Reluctantly, he transformed his servo to his blade. _'Smokescreen, I am so sorry.'_

The sound of metal shifting against metal brought Smokescreen's attention back up from the enormous blue puddle on the floor which he lay in. He took a moment to register what it meant, and gasped.  
"No," He breathed, struggling to push himself heavily off the ground as his breathing quickened. A firm servo took hold of his wing. Smokescreen's audios picked up the sound of a blade slicing through the air. "P-please!"  
Guilt rolled through Ratchet in an unwelcome tide. Inside, he screamed at himself to keep up the barrier, to show no weakness. But the grief was too much to be kept off his faceplates.

Bumblebee, Bulkhead, and Arcee gawked as Smokescreen desperately attempted to scramble away, his optics wide in fear.  
"N-NO!" Smokescreen wailed in panic, terror and dread gripping him tight. Not again! Please! He clutched at the wall in a mad scramble to get away, spark pounding. Smokescreen was honestly terrified.  
All the Autobots saw the pained expression on Ratchet's face, however, as he swung down.  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGHHHHHH!" Smokescreen screeched, energon spraying into the air from the already deep slash. The blade was still embedded in his metal, and with a sickening scrape, Ratchet pulled it out. Energon dripped from the blade.  
Smokescreen kept screaming, unending shudders of agony wrapping his entire frame.  
To all the Autobots' shock and horror, he suddenly gacked and coughed, and then a considerable amount of blue liquid came sputtering out of his mouth and pouring around his glossa in a sticky mess.  
His optics grew wide in shock. That wasn't supposed to happen…was it? Agony dug ruthless claws into him still, so he didn't think about it much.  
But Ratchet stared in disbelief.  
There was too much energon. Simply too much. He would die soon if he didn't do something _fast_. Dismayed, he glanced back towards the other Autobots. "Someone get me the energon drip," He stammered, voice shaking. To his relief, Bumblebee nodded and darted off in the right direction.  
Fear for the young bot surged in the doctor as he turned his gaze on Smokescreen again. "It'll be alright," Ratchet breathed, hoping he sounded as confident as he hoped. "It will _all_ be over soon."  
Smokescreen made no response.  
At that moment, the Autobot scout hurried back in, dragging the machine behind him. The medic gave him a word of thanks and was about to attach Smokescreen to it, but halted.  
The mech was gasping for breath, and choked sobs escaped him again and again. He could tell the agony was a lot to bear. And the energon was still pulsing out of the new gash. If he hooked him up to it, it would just be wasted and flow right out as fast as he could pump it in. No, he had to finish first.  
Ratchet almost felt like crying, but the tears wouldn't come. He was grateful for that. He didn't need to show he was soft and couldn't handle the pressure. If he just kept his mind on the task… Reluctant, he forcefully brought the blade to the base of Smokescreen's doorwing again. An awful shriek of anguish fell away from Smokescreen as it dug through sheets of metal, energon welling up around it and gushing over the young mech's side. The Autobot medic cringed, gritting his denta together against the painful empathy in his spark. Attempting to work quickly, so that Smokescreen didn't have to bear it for much longer, he sawed through a couple inches, and then drew it out again, ready to strike. He tried his hardest to ignore the loud groans of agony dragging out of his patient.

Smokescreen suddenly yelped, clenching his shaking fists and desperately sucking in breath after breath. Coolant still stung his optics and blurred his vision, and pain shot down his back from his door, sinking tendrils of agony into him. He could hardly feel his wing anymore, and all he _did_ feel was endless pain.  
And then a sharper explosion of agony erupted from his doorwing as Ratchet swiftly sunk it into metal. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!" Smokescreen roared, stomach sucking in and stiffening at the spikes of agony shoving into his back, reaching through his entire body as well. A stomach-turning squelch and scrape noise met his audios as the medical officer heavily slid the energon-stained blade out. It didn't take long for him to swing it back into his wing. Smokescreen wailed and sobbed at the overwhelming pain. "RATCHET, PLEASE! STOP! ICAN'TTAKE IT ANYMORE!" He begged, weakly kicking his legs, coolant flowing from his tightly shut optics.

Arcee stared on, optics wide. She had never thought she'd ever feel this sorry for Smokescreen in her life. Ever. She wanted to help him out of it, she wanted to put him out of his misery…coolant stung at her optics.  
Bumblebee felt no better; empathy made his doorwings ache, and his spark hurt for his friend. Smokescreen might've been unfocused on the task and annoying sometimes, but he was a nice guy. He didn't deserve this…  
Shaking his helm and closing his optics, Bulkhead turned his helm away. He couldn't stand to watch the little guy get hurt like this, but the fresh scent of warm, spilt energon hit his olfactory sensors and anguished cries of agony rang in his audios. It made him feel sick.  
Silent pain for Smokescreen had a tight hold on Optimus's spark. He was so new, so young. He shouldn't have been forced to endure this. It was a terrible way to be welcomed into the team, and he would probably hold a grudge against Ratchet for life. Smokescreen's agony was clearly voiced, and each wail of anguish stabbed Optimus's chest. No one deserved to endure this. Especially not him.

A silent sigh of relief passed through Ratchet as he took in the fact it was a short distance left to cut off. It wouldn't be long before he was done. But it was still a distance…  
Smokescreen writhed and twitched, gasping for air and sobbing occasionally. His optics were wide and unfocused, staring at nothing. Ratchet held the doorwing straight and let his blade fly again, bracing himself in expectation of an agonized wail to be tossed into the air. But there was only the crunching of metal and energon spurting. Smokescreen lay still on the floor, mouth open slightly and optics wide.  
Fear flickered through Ratchet. Had he already…?  
The medic almost collapsed with relief when he saw Smokescreen's back rise and fall raggedly with breathing. But there was still the chance he could offline. He had to work quickly.

The young mech felt it fully when agony tore into his back again. He briefly took note when energon slid in lines over his side from his right, remaining doorwing. Smokescreen could hardly feel the appendage anymore, and knew it was almost off. Coolant pricked his optics.  
A strange coldness slithered into his limbs, and his internal cooling fans whirred in his audios. Smokescreen's mind felt unable to function. Burning agony seared into his back once more, screaming into his consciousness. All he did was bounce slightly at the impact while pain spread throughout his chassis.

It finally struck Ratchet what was happening to Smokescreen. Hurriedly, he slid out his blade from in his patient's doorwing and transformed it back into a servo, spark pounding.  
"He's in shock," He announced, optics wide.  
He had to finish _now_.  
In a flurry of movement, he pressed one of his servos to Smokescreen's back while the other took a firm hold of the mech's remaining door. A loud snap tore into the silence of the room, and then was filled with a clatter as the removed doorwing was hastily put next to the other.  
The owner of both detached appendages didn't react.  
Anxiety pulsing through him, the Autobot medical officer applied pressure to the energon-pumping scar of circuitry and loose wires, hoping to decrease the flow, while his other servo reached for a second slab of metal, much like the other one that sealed up the exposed patch of Smokescreen's left doorwing.  
Ratchet drew back a now energon-stained servo and transformed it into his welder again. Using the same technique as with what he did for the other wing, he closed up the opening in the metal. He felt like a time limit was at stake, and there was, in a sense. But he knew not when it ended. He could never tell when Smokescreen would die.  
Finally, the metal was sealed shut. Now he could attach Smokescreen to the energon drip. Quickly doing so and wiping off the worst of the energon off the young mech, Ratchet leaned back and sighed heavily. A tired relief flooded him.  
He was done.  
The orange and white mech spared a glance back to the rest of the Autobot team, who seemed to know he was at last finished.  
Grunting softly, the medic stood up. He was dismayed to find Smokescreen's energon coating his legs, arms, chest, and some of his face. Sometime later, he'd have to wipe it off…and clean the rest of the berthroom. Where he'd done his 'operation', energon was smeared and pooled into puddles on the floor.  
Ratchet was jolted back to reality when he heard Smokescreen suddenly gasp loudly. The young mech had finally seemed to be jolted awake from the energon rushing back into his systems.

Arcee almost stepped forward when she saw Smokescreen spring to life, gulping in breath after breath and convulsing.  
"Smokescreen!" Ratchet cried, trying to press him to the ground and calm him. After a moment, the white, gray, red, and blue Autobot stilled, panting.  
"What…" He breathed.  
Feeling safer, Ratchet drew back his servos. "How do you feel?" He prompted.  
Smokescreen blinked, not responding for a klik. "Hurts a little… But I think I'll be alright." He was conscious of the fact that he partially lying. The young mech knew that even if his physical condition was stable, he'd be forever wracked with memories of the process. The empty space in his back would forever remind him of his loss. Even if they got him new ones, it just wouldn't be the same.  
The medic sensed Smokescreen's grief. "We could always get you new models," He suggested, hoping to cheer him up. "Just not your old ones."  
"That's…not what's wrong," Smokescreen murmured, his optics drifting to the two doorwings on the floor next to his pedes. The numbers '38' on both of them were splattered with his energon, and a twinge of discomfort where they used to be made his shoulders twitch. Miserably, he looked over his shoulder. To where they _should've_ been.

"Then what is?" Bulkhead asked.  
The young mech looked up, some surprise flashing in his optics, immediately replaced by scorn. "I'm probably just fussing over nothing…but it'll never be the same."  
The Autobots all caught sympathy in Ratchet's optics. "Sometimes you'll have to give up things for the better…" He mumbled wistfully, his optics distant. It seemed for a moment that he was dwelling in memory, but before any of them could comment, the medic had reverted back to his old self. "But it's too late now. We can't do anything to change what's done. Now, go back and mind your own business," He snapped. "We're done here."

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**A/N Well...review and tell me what you think! XD**


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